Learning to Love Food. Again.
The first time I visited China, in the summer after 10th grade, was like living with beer goggles over my ears. Sounds would come in all orientations, tones, and speeds, almost like white noise, or maybe music. It was great! It was the first time since childhood I had a real excuse to say, “sorry — I have no idea what you’re saying. I’m going to keep on playing.” The people around me recognized this as an unavoidable state of the foreigner, coming out of the womb a second time, and so they cheered me along like new parents when their two-year-old starts speaking.
“Hello. Where is the toilet.”
“Wow! Your Chinese is so good!”
“Where. Where” (thank you to all the Chinese readers out there)
As a born-again preschooler, all I could do within my homestay environment was take in whatever knowledge I could, completely ignore what I couldn’t, and try to fit pieces together into anything that made sense. Naturally, what I registered first was food, which, began, every day, with the feast of breakfast. The feast of breakfast, enforced by my host parents, had 3 tenants:
1) Stay hydrated
2) Stay full
3) Keep eating until I say, “go!”
The third tenant was where all the fun was, because you never knew where it would land on a given day. Some days we were certainly late for summer camp, but my host dad would stare me down as I suffered down bowls of scalding soymilk, sip by sip. Other days, I would get to the middle of my gabacai, and he would tell me, “too much sodium! Go!” And we would go!
Even with the occasional early departures, the feast of breakfast was truly a feast. Between our rotation of three local shops, a typical meal might include 4 cups of fluids, 1/3 lb of breads, and whatever dumplings were being offered. Again, Tenant 2 was non-negotiable. I was to stay so full that I couldn’t not be full until dinner time. A few tricks I tried at the start to get around it — all ended in failure:
· chibaole! I’m full!
· chengle! stuffed to the brink…
· yaobaozha… about to explode
These would all be responded to with soft smiles, and, “it’s ok. Slowly slowly eat” :)
Eventually, I found one technique that actually worked:
· yaoladuzi! This is not coming out dry…
Interestingly, after discovering the laduzi card, new combinations opened up. Rubbing my belly with an exasperated expression, leaving just a little food on my plate, and getting up to use the bathroom very frequently all sent a message. No one questioned my sincerity. Yet, using these too often did run certain risks, like attracting unwanted concern, even Chinese medicinal treatment. I remember one night, I was journaling in bed, getting ready to turn off the lights, when my host dad came into the room, to my bedside, with an opaque vial in hand. “HEY!” He opened the lid (no medical safe seal on this one…), shook out a small pile of fine, charcoal-colored power onto the index knuckle of his left hand. He dropped his head, did the motion. And the big suck in… no way in hell, I told him, or how it probably came out in Chinese, “thank you, I’m going to sleep.” (Please don’t worry, Mom.)
Thankfully, after discovering this sliver of agency, the feast of breakfast and my own small world began opening up. Over the subsequent weeks, and following six years, this opening grew from a feast of breakfast into an even larger feast of cuisines, challenges, and flavors — which is where I’m at today.
I’m convinced that the Chinese food world is truly special. Back in high school, I used to be a foodie, who’s daily highlight came at dinnertime in the form of warm Vietnamese wanton soup, spectacular woodfired Neapolitan pizzas, home-cooked Argentine empanadas, matza-ball soup and matza brie, har gau dumplings… anything I could find, eat, and connect to with my parents or friends. Six years ago, during my sophomore year of high school, I gave all that up, because I wanted to be able to say I was doing my part to fight climate change. I stopped eating meat.
The things that mattered to me most in this world — gone.
Most of what I felt defined me and my relationships — gone. Passion towards food — gone. And this lasted four whole years.
It was only after returning to China, to research Chinese foods as a culinary student, that I started regaining some of this passion, that I started really reconnecting to food.
Because what I saw was truly amazing.
How many traditional plant proteins did we have the States? Humus, falafel, mock meats, plant-based burgers… could you name ten?
After spending just three days in a tiny city outside of Beijing, I found 12 plant-based foods that I had never seen before. The next week, I visited a city in China’s northwest, famous for beef and mutton, and found 20 more foods that were downright incredible.
This was after 6 months of living, eating, and cooking my way around China. Training as a Buddhist chef, working in Beijing and Xiamen restaurants, and visiting some 10+ cities. There was so much incredible food here, and the more I learned, the more I realized that the U.S. was seriously missing out.
For those unfamiliar with Chinese food, it’s a lot more than kung pao chicken.
· China has eight main cuisines. Four of them, alone, are as large as most national cuisines.
· China’s massive size and diverse climate, geography, and seasons produce unbelievably diverse vegetables, fruits, fungi, and spices.
· China’s population is also incredibly diverse, home to 56 officially recognized Chinese “ethnic groups.” Because of long-term geographical and economic isolation, many have developed unique culinary traditions.
Across these cultures, China has at least 15 common types of plant-based proteins, with another 15 less common that I could list off now. And they all have tens, hundreds of uses.
These foods are enough to revolutionize the American plant-based world times over.
You may doubt this — wonder how vegan Chinese food could be this diverse — so stay tuned. I hope to prove it to you.
